


The Sunne In Splendour

by elrhiarhodan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Ace Roxy, Alternative Universe - Elizabethan, Alternative Universe - Historical, Dean Baker is Doubly Evil, Eggsy is magical, Gazelle is not Evil, Hartwin, Hidden Heritage, Historical Fantasy, M/M, No Smut, Other tags to be added, Plantagenets Not Tudors, Roxanne is the Queen of England, hartwin is endgame, magical objects, magical powers, merlahad, no infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21736609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Eggsy Unwin is caught between the Devil and the deep blue sea.  If he doesn't do what his stepfather wants, his baby sister will be in for a lifetime of pain and suffering, but if he does follow Dean's orders, he could end up bringing down the kingdom.All Eggsy has to do is get into a magically locked vault, steal the Orb of State, and get out without anyone catching him.Eggsy's smart and he's got contingencies, but everything depends on the right people being in the right place at the right time.  The right people being the Queen's First Minister, Lord Harry Hart, and Merlin, the Queen's High Mage.  The right place is The Black Prince.  And well, the right time is right about now, a few days after Samhain in the Year of Our Lord, 1567.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Harry Hart | Galahad/Merlin
Comments: 20
Kudos: 89
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019, Suggested Good Reads





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thenerdyindividual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/gifts).



> This is a work of historical fantasy, set in an alternative universe where the War of the Roses ended much differently. The House of York retained control of the throne when Richard IV and his army was victorious at the Battle of Bosworth Market against the Tudor upstart, the never-would-be Henry VII, in 1485.
> 
> A few things about some of the real people (namely the Duke of York’s sons) and how the story differs from history that might make the story less confusing:
> 
>  **Edward V** \- Oldest surviving son of Richard, Duke of York. He was by all accounts a true profligate, but unlike the Edward in his story, he did not leave a documented trail of bastards. His wife, Elizabeth Woodville, did give birth to ten children, but only a few survived. Two of them were the princes that had disappeared (most likely killed) in the Tower of London. Shakespeare, ever the Tudor apologist, cast Richard IV as the murderer, but the little evidence that does exist points to either the Duke of Buckingham or Henry Tudor as the possible killers.
> 
>  **George, Duke of Clarence** \- In reality, only married once - to Isabel Neville and they did have three children. Honor FitzGerald was a real person, his godfather, James FitzGerald, Earl of Desmond's eldest daughter. 
> 
> **Richard III** \- History has given him a villainous cast, mostly because history is written by the victors, in this case, the Tudors. The real Richard III died without surviving legitimate issue after losing his crown (and his life) at the Battle of Bosworth Market ( _"My horse! My horse! My kingdom for a horse!"_ ). 
> 
> In this story, Richard keeps his throne and rules for fifty-two years. Richard had one son, Stephen, who ruled for eighteen years. He was married twice and had two daughters that survived him
> 
> Stephen’s first wife was Catherine of Aragon (in reality, the first wife of Henry VIII), and they had one surviving daughter, Maude (a parallel to Mary Tudor).
> 
> Stephen’s second wife was Anne Bullyn (similar to Anne Boleyn, but she did not suffer the same fate). Anne gave birth to a daughter, Elizabeth Roxanne, who survived to adulthood and became Queen Elizabeth. Like many real kings and queens of England, Elizabeth Roxanne uses one of her birth names as her regnal name, but was informally known by her secondary Christian name.

**Westminster Palace, London - 1567**

Roxanne winces as the tincture is applied and a linen bandage wrapped around the wound that crosses her palm. Ordinarily a cut like this would heal in a matter of days, leaving nothing but a fading memory of a quick, sharp pain, but this is no ordinary wound. It is one made by a shard of the hallowed blade of her greatest ancestor, made to renew her tie with the land and the people she holds so dear.

The cut will scar, leaving yet another fine line on her hand; good company for the ones already made and to be joined by others - one for each year of her reign. There are now ten scars on her right hand, marking each Samhain of her rule, and nine on her left - the matching tenth will come in six months, on Beltane - each one balancing the other.

"Are you all right, my queen?" 

Roxanne looks up at her High Mage and nods. Merlin has been a fixture in her life for as long as she can remember - her tutor in all things magical, even when the use of magic had been a high crime in England, and magic users and creatures made of magic would be put to death. He had risked much for her and she owes him everything.

"Your father, and I mean no disrespect, could barely contain his pain when Excalibur took its due - and he had been the greatest warrior of his day. You, on the other hand, don’t even flinch."

Roxanne flexes her hand and the bandage stays put. She doesn’t doubt that Merlin has used a drop of his own magic to keep it in place. "My father never fully believed in the Ritual, and perhaps the Blade had known that."

Merlin considers this. "And so it took its due as harshly as possible?"

She shrugs, "Possibly. But the question is academic, since my father has been dead for twenty years." Roxanne feelings for her mercurial and distant sire are still difficult, even after all of these years; she prefers not to think on him too much. Instead, she flexes her hand again and smiles. As much as the Ritual causes pain and discomfort, she enjoys it for what it is - an affirmation of the potent magic in her blood and a manifestation of the otherworldly power that she wields as Elizabeth Roxanne Plantagenet, Gloriana Regnant, blessed by the Land as the Queen of England, Ireland, Wales, and France. 

"You are twice the ruler your father was, my queen. Stephen was a brilliant tactician and military leader, but he did not understand the connection to the Land and its people they way you do." 

"Thank you, Lord Hart." Just as Merlin has been at her side since childhood, so has Harry Hart; he has been her most loyal courtier since she had been in leading strings. Like Merlin, Harry had been her teacher, but of all things worldly and mundane, ensuring that she had an understanding of politics that had rivaled the most experienced of diplomats. Politics hadn’t been her only curriculum; Harry had made certain her education had been well-rounded; even in their exile from court, he’d introduced her to artists and scientists, playwrights and poets and musicians, so she could better understand human nature and the people she would eventually rule.

It is only natural that with such a long and dedicated service, Harry is her most trusted counsellor, her First Minister for affairs both foreign and domestic. There is no diplomat she relies on more than Harry, and he’s rewarded that trust by brokering treaties with Englands allies and defanging England’s enemies, allowing the nation to rebuild and prosper after the terrible reign of Bloody Maude.

But now is not the time to think about her late and unlamented half-sister. It is Samhain and a night for celebration.

Roxanne hands Harry the Orb of State. "Please return this to the vault, my lord. And this, too." She gives him the Blade. "It would not do to lose these, would it?" Roxanne smirks just a bit. Both the Orb and the Blade have a storied - and terrifying - history; they’d both disappeared during Queen Maude’s reign, only to reappear on Roxanne’s bed pillow the night before her coronation.

"Of course, your Majesty." Lord Hart bows and leaves, and Roxanne nods to Merlin, who follows his husband from her chamber. The pair of them are the two strong pillars of her reign and she’d be lost without them, but for now, Roxanne would like a moment of peace and solitude. Tonight’s revelries will require her to put her magic on display, proving that she still is the rightful steward of the land, and as much as she loves it, magic always has a price.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The corridors of Westminster Palace are rarely empty, and today is no exception. The lords and ladies that populate Gloriana’s court are in a rare state today, giggling and bowing as the Queen’s First Minister and her High Mage pass by. But Harry takes no notice of this behavior, he’s anxious to return these precious objects to the vault. The warded room, lined with inch-thick plates of iron and slabs of oak, is designed to keep intruders out and magic in, and only three people have the authority to enter - the Queen, of course, and Harry and Merlin. The wards built into the doorway had been designed to cause anyone else the greatest amount of pain imaginable without killing an intruder. According to Merlin, it’s all based upon blood - only the rightful ruler - one recognized by the Land - and those who have received the Land’s blessing can enter.

After Roxanne had taken the throne, Merlin had set his own brand of magic on the room - a complex barrier of gears and cogs and steel bars that needed two spelled keys to undo had been wary of the vault’s old magic, claiming that blood magic could be notoriously unreliable.

Harry juggles the Orb and blade and retrieves the key from the chain around his neck, but it’s caught. "Shit buggering fuck, hold these, will you?" He hands the Orb and Blade to Merlin and tries to untangle the chain from the modest lace ruff, without much success. The links are snagged on the costly lace and Harry doesn’t want to tear it. He’d spent too many years in rags to be so cavalier about his clothing now.

He looks at his husband, who isn’t even trying to hide his smirk and says, "Help?"

Merlin mutters a charm and the chain unwinds from Harry’s neck and falls neatly into his palm. He puts the key into one of the locks, takes the Orb and Blade back from Merlin and waits while Merlin retrieves his own key and places it in the other lock. 

"Ready, darling?"

Merlin nods and they turn the keys at the same time - Harry to the left, Merlin to the right. The locks disengage and Merlin puts his shoulder to the heavy vault door, pushing it open. 

"Lights?"

Merlin rolls his eyes and offers up another charm to set the torches flaring to life. Harry places the Orb in its carrier and the Blade next to it. His task complete, Harry sits on a chair he’d brought here a few seasons ago and resigns himself to a bit of patience. Merlin always uses these times in the vault to take inventory of the magical and mystical objects stored here. Harry is quite certain that this routine is really just a chance for his husband to get a bit of a thrill from looking over every piece the collection, like a miser counting the coins in his hoard.

Harry asks, "Everything is still here?"

"Shhhh, I’m still checking." Merlin opens boxes and drawers, all the while muttering to himself.

Harry rolls his eyes and watches Merlin, which is certainly not a hardship. His husband might be the greatest wizard in the last two centuries, but he is a very appealing man, and even more appealing now that Harry’s gotten him out of the dusty robes and frayed hose he’d worn for most of his adult life - a good camouflage during the years when magic had been prohibited. But now, with a Queen on the throne who has been blessed by the powers of the Land, Merlin, as her most important magic user needs to shine, in a dark and dangerous way. 

The worn and tatty robes had been replaced with leather and velvet, cut to outline a body that is just as powerful as the magic it contains. Merlin might not carry a sword, but Harry knows that at any given moment, his husband has at least three lethal weapons on his person and can use them most effectively.

That is just as arousing as his long legs and perfect arse, which is on display as Merlin bends over a chest, opening drawers and checking the contents.

"Ogling me?" Merlin’s voice echoes weirdly from inside the trunk.

"It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do. And it is such a pleasing pastime."

Merlin stands up and brushes the dust off himself. "Well, we are all entitled to our amusements."

"You like to fondle the kingdom’s magical patrimony, I like to watch."

That simple statement makes Merlin blush, and he mutters, "I thought I was the one who liked to watch."

Harry doesn’t take offense. "Well, it’s a different sort of watching." Harry’s relationship with his husband often defines convention, not that what they do together and separately is anyone else’s business.

Merlin closes the bottom drawer of the largest chest with a shove. The wood squeals in protest, or perhaps it’s the objects inside that make that unearthly noise. To be honest, Harry doesn’t want to know.

"I’m done."

Harry gets up and gestures for Merlin to precede him so they can properly lock the vault. 

Neither man notices the shadow clinging to the wall, or how it flows under the door as they turn their keys.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Eggsy coalesces inside the vault, relieved to be back in a corporeal form. He’d been hanging out as smoke and shadow since dawn, waiting for someone to come back with the Orb and the Blade. In truth, Eggsy’s been in Westminster Palace for a few weeks, as unnoticeable as a mote of dust in sunlight, getting a feel for the royal magic.

And that magic is _everywhere_ , the air is thick with the scent of the Plantagenet queen’s workings - yellow broom like the flowers once worn on the cap of Geoffrey of Anjou, the first Plantagenet wizard-king. Eggsy likes the otherworldly aroma, it feels a bit like home, reminds him of his mum before she’d remarried.

Which is why Eggsy has gotten himself into the vault. His stepfather has made threats, ones that Eggsy knows he’ll have no compunction about carrying out, unless Eggsy does the bastard’s bidding. If it was anything or anyone but his sister, Eggsy would have walked away without a second thought. Now that Eggsy’s mother, Michelle, is dead, Dean knows that the only thing that matters to Eggsy is his sister, Daisy, and those threats will earn Dean instant compliance.

This time, Dean’s told Eggsy that if he doesn’t deliver, he’s going to give five-year-old Daisy to a whorehouse, where she’ll be used to cure some poxed-up nobleman of his disease. Eggsy knows Dean isn’t making idle threats, Dean swears that Daisy isn’t his blood, that Michelle had played him false and gotten herself with child when she’d spread her legs for some stranger.

Eggsy would rather believe that some nameless man gave his mum a bit of pleasure and left her with child, rather than Dean being Daisy’s sire, but since Michelle died, Eggsy has defended his mum’s honor against his step-father’s slights. He’s tried to get Daisy away from Dean, but Dean has too much influence - the one time he’d left with his sister, Dean set his mutts after Eggsy and they’d nearly killed him.

It’s a terrible thing to be so trapped, but Eggsy has a plan and he hopes he can live long enough to see it through. If he does, he’ll get Daisy free from Dean and just maybe a place for himself within Westminster. If not, he’s got some contingencies in place and he’ll bring Dean Baker down, and quite possibly the Pretender, too.

Eggsy just has to steal the right object.

The magic in the vault is almost overwhelming, so many of the precious artifacts are singing to him, they are eager for the touch of a new hand, but it has to be the _right_ hand, otherwise…

As much as Eggsy is tempted to help himself to some jewels or small objects that could be pawned for coin, he sticks to his plan and looks for the royal Orb. Dean’s masters have promised him much glory if he can deliver this particular item. They seem to believe that if the Pretender holds it, Queen Elizabeth will be cast down and killed, leaving the Pretender as the true and rightful - and magic-free - king of England.

Eggsy had wanted to ask just how this would happen if the Pretender was devoid of magic, but he didn’t feel like getting a beating for his curiosity.

It takes him a while to find the Orb; it’s in a plain wooden box without a lock; when Eggsy touches it, it starts a pleasant humming. There’s something near the box, an ancient and bad-tempered dagger. It reminds Eggsy of the wolf-dog he’d once seen take down a bear - and Eggsy wants nothing to do with it. He takes the Orb out of its box, ignores the dagger’s screams and turns himself into smoke and shadow.

No one notices the dark stain flowing across the stones and along the walls; it’s Samhain and the days are short - torchlight provides a very effective camouflage. Eggsy is out of Westminster Palace and at the water stairs. A few pence buys him a boat ride down to Cheapside, where Eggsy has a bolt hole. He secures the Orb, ignoring its song, and sends two letters.

The first goes to his damned stepfather.

The second to Lord Harry Hart, the Queen’s spymaster.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	2. Chapter 2

Three days after Samhain, one of the palace pages knocks on the door to Harry’s office. "Milord, I’m sorry to bother you."

Harry gestures for the lad to enter. "It’s Michael, isn’t it?"

The boy nods and bites his lip. "Aye, milord."

The page looks utterly miserable and Harry asks, "Whatever is the matter?"

"I’m so sorry. This should have been delivered three days ago." Michael holds out a crumpled missive. "I don’t know what happened, milord. I thought I’d given it to you when it arrived, but I just found it under a tray in the kitchen."

Harry takes the envelope, and there are stains from a wine cup on it. He flips it over - the seal is intact but Harry doesn’t recognize the insignia. Regardless, he isn’t going to chastise an innocent servant for what was likely his own error. "It’s possible you had delivered it, I might have put it on a tray and forgotten about it, and then it got whisked away."

Michael looks relieved that Harry’s not blaming him and excuses himself.

Harry reads the letter and desperately wishes he could turn back time. He bolts out of his office and heads to Merlin’s tower, only to find it empty. It’s just pure, dumb luck that he sees his husband’s bald head towering over a gaggle of over-dressed nobles. He must have made a noise, because Merlin looks up and sees him.

He leaves the lordlings and strides over to Harry. "What’s the matter."

Harry hands him the letter. "This arrived three days ago, it got mislaid and was just returned to me. Thank all the powers that no one had opened it."

Merlin reads the note. "Shit. Shit buggering fuck."

Harry can’t agree with that sentiment more. "We need to check - this could be some kind of nasty prank."

Merlin looks at him with wide, doubting eyes. "I hope you’re right."

As they head towards the vault, Harry has himself half-convinced that this is just a hoax. After all, there’s no way anyone could get into the vault without the keys or the right kind of royal blood. There are just too many protections on the room.

Neither man says a word as they unlock the vault and pull the heavy door open. Harry goes right to the case that holds the Orb and his worst fears are realized. The object is gone.

Merlin whispers, "How could this happen? How could a thief get in here?"

Harry asks, "Is the Blade still here?"

Merlin makes a tiny gesture and the air shimmers, revealing the ancient and powerful Blade. Both men let out a sigh of relief. "It is. Thank the Goddess for small miracles."

"Can you track down the thief?" Harry hopes that Merlin can give them some kind of advantage.

His husband utters a phrase in a long-dead language and a spark flutters from his fingertips, but it doesn’t go far. "Damnit. There is too much magic in here." Merlin moves to the threshold, and straddles the space between the vault and the hallway as he tries again. The spark floats up and Harry holds his breath, hoping that they’ll have a trail to follow, but as before, the spell doesn’t take hold. Merlin tries for a third time, and the results are the same.

"Whoever the thief is, he’s protected by something." Merlin shakes his head. "Something more powerful than my magic."

Harry hadn’t thought that was possible; there are only three things that could defeat Merlin’s power was that of the Land itself - the Standing Stones, the Blade, the blood of the True Line. "We’ll just have to hope that the thief hasn’t taken offense at my silence." The letter hadn’t specified a time, just a place, but Harry can’t imagine the man hanging about, waiting on the pleasure of the Queen’s First Minister when he’s in possession of one of the great treasures of the realm.

Despite the urgency, both Harry and Merlin take the time to change out of their customary silks and velvets into clothing more suitable for Cheapside - worn leather and sturdy wool, in a cut most commonly worn by soldiers. Merlin has no need of a blade other than an eating knife, but Harry prefers a rapier backed up by a pair of stilettos. He tucks a few throwing knives in his boots and for luck, grabs a straight-edged barber’s razor from the washstand. 

It doesn’t take long to get from the palace to Cheapside - their horses are massive beasts that easily clear the way. The bells of St. Paul’s are chiming the hour for evening prayer when Harry and Merlin arrive at The Black Prince, the tavern the thief had named in his missive. 

The place is busy enough for a midweek evening in early November; the early dark is offset by a slightly unseasonable warmth, keeping would-be customers on the streets rather than seeking comfort indoors. This makes it easier for Harry to scan the room, looking for someone - anyone - would could be their thief. Since he doesn’t know who to look for, Harry just hopes that the thief is here and recognizes him.

The publican approaches, rubbing his hands on his apron and asks if there is anything he could provide to two such obviously noble gentlemen. Harry looks over at Merlin who shrugs, so Harry just tells the man, "We’ll take some of your best ale and a seat by the fire."

The man nods and scurries off.

"Do you see anything?" Harry can tell that Merlin’s scanning the room with his powerful second sight.

"Not sure. There are a few magical creatures here, but I don’t think any of them is our thief."

Harry looks around the room as well, but there is no one he recognizes.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Mind if I join you?" 

Harry hadn’t heard anyone approach, and from Merlin’s startled expression, he hadn’t, either. The speaker is a young man, his accent common to the folk that live in this part of London. There’s something about this man - barely more than a boy - that sets the back of his neck tingling. _Could this be their thief?_

Merlin seems to feel the same way and extends an invitation. "Pull up a seat, lad."

The young man does just that, and before Harry can ask for a name, he’s given one. "I’m Eggsy, by the by. Eggsy Unwin."

Harry doesn’t say anything, nor does Merlin, but they are both certain that this is their thief.

"Unusual name ye’ve got," Merlin comments.

Eggsy shrugs. "My da called me that - says I was bald as an egg when I was born. Names have a way of sticking, I guess. And what should I call you two? Might seem weird if I called you Master First Minister and Master High Mage, 'specially here."

Oh, they’ve definitely found their thief. 

"Call me Harry."

"And him?" Eggsy pokes a thumb in Merlin’s direction.

"He’s Merlin, but you’re better off not calling him by that name." Harry’s pretty certain that the boy knows both their names, especially if he knows their titles.

Eggsy grins, "Odd’s knows what I might summon?"

Merlin gives Eggsy a sour look. "Precisely."

The landlord finally returns with two tankards of ale and completely ignores Eggsy; Harry almost believes that the man doesn’t quite see Eggsy sitting there. Despite the general shabbiness of the tavern, the ale is surprisingly decent, almost better than what’s served at the palace.

But they aren’t here for the beer. Harry puts his tankard down and starts to play his hand. "A letter was delivered to me a few hours ago."

"Oh?" Eggsy nonchalance is an obvious pretense, the boy is crackling with excitement, like a cat who knows just where the mouse is.

"It had been sent to me a few days ago, but unfortunately, it had gotten waylaid. And for that, I’m sorry."

"I bet you are." Eggsy grins, just a bit, then catches himself. "And why should I be interested in your postal problems?"

Harry pulls the letter out and drops it on the sticky table. "I think you’re the one who sent it."

The boy’s eyes flick to the paper and back to Harry., like he’s weighing his options. "And if I did?"

Harry doesn’t say anything, letting the silence draw out like a sword from a scabbard. It works. The boy starts to sweat and he swallows hard, the mole on his throat bobbing with the gesture. 

Merlin, an old hand at interrogations like this, says, "If you did this to catch our attention, you’ve succeeded. Getting into the vault without the key is a feat that would earn you a place as my apprentice - without question - but if that’s what you’re aiming for, we’ll need back what you’ve taken."

"Not interested in being your 'prentice. Got my own thing to do." Eggsy looks truculent. 

"What sort of thing?" Harry doesn’t have to pretend curiosity. This boy intrigues him.

"This and that. Man’s gotta make his own way in the world. You folks, up in your ivory tower, don’t give a shite about the rest of the world. Bloody Maude or Golden Gloriana, ain’t much difference when you’re scrabbling for a meal and a place to sleep. The tax man still wants his cut, whether you got the dosh to pay it or not."

Eggsy’s extraordinary speech barely finishes echoing in the room with the tavern door slams open and three particularly ugly bravos burst in. They scan the room and seem to focus on Harry - no, on _Eggsy_.

"Ah, fuck me." Eggsy winces. "I best get going. Maybe we can talk again sometime soon. I’ll send you another message - just don’t take so long to respond."

Harry clamps a hand around Eggsy’s wrist and Merlin grabs the other. "Ye’re not going anywhere, boyo. You have something that doesn’t belong to ye and we’re not letting ye out of our sight until we get it back."

"My lords, please - let me go. This is no trouble you want to find yourselves involved in."

Even if Harry - or Merlin - had been inclined to let this wily young man go on the promise of future contact, the approaching bravos make that impossible.

"Oi, Eggsy, there you are, you squeaky little bastard. Dean says your fair game now, and you owe me for that stunt you pulled, stealing my horse." This particular tough is one of the ugliest men Harry’s ever had the displeasure to encounter - with a mouth filled with half-rotted teeth and heavily pockmarked skin barely covered by a spotty beard. The other bravos crowd up behind him, clearly looking to administer a beatdown.

Eggsy smiles, more of smirk, really. "Well, Rottie, you shouldn’t have left it tied up like that, in front of Dame Goodcunt’s cottage. Didn’t want your reputation to suffer because you wanted to diddle one of her new boys."

"Why you - " The so-called Rottie reaches for Eggsy, but Eggsy dances out of reach. 

Harry almost wants to see the boy get his comeuppance, but he’s not going to risk it, not before the Orb is returned. Harry glances over at Merlin, who gives him a sharp nod. That’s the go-ahead for Harry to take care of things. Merlin is a skilled fighter, but he’s not really in the same class as Harry when it comes to conventional weapons, and The Black Prince isn’t really the place to unleash dangerous magic.

Harry lets out an audible sigh, a prelude if you will, of what’s to come. "Listen boys, I’ve had a rather difficult day, so whatever your beef is with Eggsy, and I’m certain it’s well-founded, I’d been most appreciative if you could leave us in peace. At least until I finish this rather delightful tankard of ale."

Eggsy has the grace to look a bit worried. "You should listen to him. You and your friend really should get going. Like I said, I’ll definitely be in touch, all right? Don’t want you to mess up your nice clothes."

Harry looks down at the wool and leather he’s wearing - these definitely don’t meet his definition of "nice clothes". And there is no way he and Merlin are letting this little thief out of their sight.

Rottie sneers. "Yeah, old man - you might want to get moving along. You can find better whores at Madame Goodcunt’s. Eggsy here probably got the pox from getting on his hands and knees like a bitch in heat for the dogs that run down on Smith Street."

There are insult and there are _insults_. Harry doesn’t have to look at Eggsy to see the rage building in him, and although the boy is little more than an annoying - and attractive - stranger who has all but admitted to committing a Crown felony, Harry is just as outraged. He lets Merlin keep a watch on Eggsy while he gets up and pretends to walk away.

"There’s a saying, 'Manners - ' "

Merlin does him a favor, a twitch of a gloved finger sends out a bit of power to slam the front door shot.

Harry continues with studied nonchalance, "Maketh -". The windows follow suit. As Harry says "Man," all of the bolts and latches slide home. He turns around and looks at the bravos - a sorry bunch of wastrels as Harry’s ever seen - and says, "Do you know what that means?"

No one answers, of course

Harry smirks and says, "Then let me teach you a lesson."

The bravos look utterly confused, which just makes them seem even stupider.

Merlin’s pulled Eggsy into a corner, away from the destruction that’s about to come, and Harry just goads everyone into action. "Well, are you going to stand here all evening with your thumbs up your arses, or you going to fight?"

The one called Rottie draws something that could charitably be called a sword and rushes at him; Harry steps aside, easily avoiding an entanglement and Rottie gets his sword stuck in a piece of furniture. Harry can see that Rottie - and the others - have no skill other than brute force, and it won’t take much to teach them a lesson. He disables the short, squat one by flinging a tankard in his direction, knocking him out. Another gets an elbow in his gut and Harry uses the man’s momentum to shove him face first into a table. The tavern’s other patrons scurry out of the way and the third man trips and falls onto Harry’s conveniently placed knee. 

That just leaves Rottie, who’s freed his weapon and comes charging at Harry, who dodges blow after blow, all the while pulling on one of his gauntlets. He grabs Rottie’s blade, pulls it out of the man’s hands and uses the hilt to knock the bravo unconscious.

Harry’s a trifle disappointed, this was barely a fight. He doffs the glove, picks up his own tankard and finishes the ale. Merlin’s still holding on to Eggsy, who looks slightly awestruck and quite possibly a bit aroused. That appeases Harry’s pride just a bit. He always likes to show off his fighting skills and rarely gets a chance to, these days.

"Come on. We’ll finish this discussion back at the palace."

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	3. Chapter 3

Eggsy is shocked that Rottie and the rest of Dean’s mutts can actually see him. He’s survived to the great age of twenty-three on his ability to be mostly invisible to people that want to do him harm. There are exceptions - like Dean - who he’s never been able to hide from, but Rottie, Poodle and Ratter have never been able to see him if Eggsy doesn’t want them to. He wonders if Dean’s found a way to share his ability, or whether it’s the presence of the great Merlin that has changed things up.

It’s one of the reasons why Eggsy’s allowed Merlin to pull him along and get him on the back of the biggest horse he’s ever seen, the wizard’s gloved hands digging into his ribs to keep him upright and steady. But not the only reason. Watching the First Minister take down Dean’s mutts like they were just few worms to squash had been extremely enjoyable; that he’d been doing it in defense of Eggsy’s honor had made Eggsy feel like he actually matters, something he hasn’t felt since his da had died. 

Eggsy barely remembers the ride through London; he spends it trying not to fall off and get trampled beneath this big beast’s hooves, and when he manages to find a secure grip, he’s focusing on the First Minister’s extremely fine arse and back and shoulders. For a man who’s probably old enough to be his grandsire, Lord Hart is fit as fuck, and just the type who could get Eggsy on his knees with barely a gesture.

Not that the High Mage isn’t fine either, but he’s kind of forbidding, dressed in pure black, his hands covered in gloves. The powerful magic that rolls off of him reminds Eggsy of a wolf-dog he’d once seen guarding a noble’s grand house - one that Dean wanted him to rob. Eggsy had been able to use his magic to get in and out without injury, but he’s pretty sure that his paltry magics will have no effect on Merlin. It would probably be best if he keeps his distance from the man, if he wants to get out of this predicament with his soul - and his balls - intact.

Westminster Palace soon looms ahead and the muddy lanes turn to well-laid cobbles. It’s obvious that they are in a better neighborhood than Cheapside, just by the smell. The air still stinks, but it stinks _less_. They pass through the palace gates and someone comes to take their horses.

It’s clear that he’s in the company of powerful men - even the most gaudily-dressed noble bows as they pass, and no one approaches until they have ascended to the upper levels. A uniformed young man, maybe half a decade younger than Eggsy, stands at attention as the three of them approach.

"Thank you, William. That will be all for the day." Lord Hart presses something into the page’s hand - probably a coin - and the boy leave with a bow.

Once inside Lord Hart’s chambers, Eggsy takes a covert look around. They are on the third level, there’s just one door, and the windows are long and narrow - not quite arrow slots from the time when the palace had been a defensive fort - but not quite wide enough for Eggsy to climb through quickly. It’s a good think he can turn to smoke and shadow and escape through the cracks in the molding. But Eggsy has no interest in escaping, at least not just yet.

He’d summoned the First Minister, and while he hadn’t expected to be taken to the palace by the man, Eggsy’s not going to run out on an audience he’s worked so hard to arrange.

"So, Eggsy, now that we’re free from prying eyes, how about you give us back the Orb?"

Eggsy takes a seat and leans back, arms crossed over his chest, pretending to be a lot more fearless than he actually is. Now that it’s time to see if his great gamble’s paid off, he’s terrified it’s all going to go terribly wrong.

"Why don’t you ask me why I took it in the first place?"

Lord Hart pours something from a very pretty silver ewer and offers Eggsy a cup. "Would you like some mead?"

"No thank you." Eggsy ain’t no one’s fool - despite the wizard sitting across from him, he wouldn’t put it past the First Minister to give him something unpleasant. 

"Then perhaps you’ll now enlighten us as to why you took the Orb, and then, perhaps tell us how you managed to get into the vault in the first place." Hart’s leaning against a table, looking way too fuckable for Eggsy’s peace of mind.

Eggsy takes a deep breath and commits to the plan he’d mapped out. "My stepda - " Eggsy can’t keep the sneer off his face, "asked me to."

"Your stepfather?" Merlin leans forward, again reminding Eggsy of that wolf-dog. "Who is he?"

"He’s called Dean Baker and right now, he’s no one of importance - though he’d like to be. He’s fallen in with a powerful crowd, though. Needs to show them that he’s deserving a seat at the high table, told them that he could get the Orb."

"And you always do what your stepfather asks?"

Eggsy closes his eyes and pictures his baby sister. "I ain’t got much choice. First it was my mum. If I didn’t do as he said, Dean would hurt her. Now, it’s my sister. Says that he’ll sell her to the whoremongers - she’s not even six. Didn’t have much choice."

"Why should we believe ye?" The High Mage crosses his arms over his chest, and despite the mildness of his tone, the burning intent in his eyes sends a shiver of fear up Eggsy’s back.

Eggsy swallows a sigh, this conversation is pretty much going as expected. "Look, I didn’t have to send that letter. I could have stayed quiet - given the Orb to Dean and you’d never have been the wiser."

Lord Hart asks, "Then why did you?"

Eggsy plays the hand he’s been dealt and lays his cards on the table. "I want you to get my sister away from Dean. I’ll give you back the Orb when she’s safe from that monster."

Hart looks over at Merlin and Eggsy’s almost certain that the two of them are communicating somehow. 

"Ye know, lad, ye haven’t explained why yer stepfather’s friends want the Orb."

Eggsy grins. "Finally, you asked the right question! I ain’t one to grass, but I ain’t a liar either. Won’t volunteer the dirt but I’m not going to tell falsehoods."

"An admirable code, the is for certain." Hart nods, looking impressed.

At that, Eggsy finally rats out his stepda. "Dean has gotten himself involved with the Pretender, Charlie Tudor. He’s part of the whole anti-magic crowd, thinks that Gloriana is the Devil’s Mistress or some crap like that. Wants to wipe the land clean of the fucking 'dark arts' with fire and sword. Get rid of the Plantagenet mage-kings for once and for all."

"And yet, he commissioned you to steal the most potent magical artifact in the vault," Merlin says.

"Orb’s all right - she’s got a pretty song, but the Blade - the knife in the box next to the Orb - that’s the most powerful thing in the vault. Could feel the anger and the hunger rolling off it like the smell of the river at low tide." 

Eggsy doesn’t miss the look the two men exchange, and he’s wondering if he’s made a mistake telling them that. "Dean says that when the Pretender shows up at Court with the Orb, the people will realized he is the true ruler and Queen Elizabeth is - " Eggsy edits his next words, it wouldn’t be wise to call the Golden Gloriana a witch and a whore, "a liar and the nobility will rise up in rebellion and drag her to the Tower and lop her head off. Or she’ll drop dead on the spot." 

All Merlin says is "Hmm" and Lord Hart doesn’t even look concerned.

"Wot? Ain’t you going to get angry or something?"

Lord Hart actually laughs, then explains. "Charlie FitzHesketh has been making those same claims since the day his balls dropped."

"FitzHesketh? Who’s that?" Eggsy is confused.

"Charles Tudor’s real father was Mary Tudor’s horse master, Cedric Hesketh, a petty English noble who had admirable teeth and - rumor has it - a sizable cock that his offspring hasn’t inherited. Cedric’s uncle, Chester, helped Mary hide the fact that her son was born ten months and two weeks after the her husband, the Duc d’Alembert, died of a brain seizure. Charlie’s claim to the English throne is barred two-fold - he’s the bastard child of an illegitimate line with no Plantagenet blood in his veins. There is not a noble in Gloriana’s court - even the most critical - who’d see that wastrel take the throne." Lord Hart shakes his head. "Hell, a legitimate descendant any one of King Edward’s bastards has a greater claim than the thrice-great-grandson of Queen Katherine Capet and her Welsh musician." 

Before his mother had married Dean, she’d sent Eggsy to one of the church schools in Cheapside, and Eggsy had enjoyed the learning - particularly the history lessons. Two centuries ago, the French king’s daughter, Katherine Capet, had been married off to the Plantagenet victor at Agincourt, Henry the Fifth; she’d been widowed within five years of their marriage, but had given the great warrior no children. She _had_ born a son during her widowhood, the result of a scandalous relationship with a Welsh insurrectionist, Jasper Tudor. Tudor had been executed, and Katherine - and her bastard - returned to her brother’s keeping in France.

Harry continues his own lesson. "Katherine’s son styled himself as Henry Tudor, had made some feeble claims to the English throne through some unproven connection to the princes of Wales, but he never gained the support of the English nobility. The line had thinned out in succeeding generations, the connection growing more and more tenuous, until the last of the line - Mary Tudor - had married the second son of the French Queen and not unlike her thrice-great-grandmother, bore a child too many months after the death of her husband. Neither Mary nor her son have anything that resembles a recognized claim. Charlie’s the bastard son of a bastard line that should never have seen the light of day if the Duke of York had not been a sentimental fool about his brother’s widow and parted Katherine Capet’s head from her neck after she spread her legs for that rebel."

Eggsy finds all of this utterly fascinating, but it doesn’t really solve his problem. "Dean don’t care about that. He’s been promised money and power and he don’t like magic, so falling in with this Charlie guy is a natural fit. He’s also threatened to kill me if I take my sister away. I’ve told him that I’ll get the Orb if he gives me Daisy, and he’s kind of agreed, but Dean Baker ain’t a man of his word." Eggsy spits in emphasis. "But you - you are men of your word, right? You get me my sister and a place I can keep her safe, I’ll give you the Orb back. You don’t, you’ll not see the round shiny thing again, swear down."

Merlin says exactly what Eggsy expects. "Produce the Orb, we’ll get you your sister."

"Nope. I give you the Orb, you slit my throat to keep me quiet and Daisy becomes a poxed-up whore before her fifth birthday."

For the first time since they’d met at The Black Prince, the High Mage looks angry. "Ye’d really think we’d kill ye? Didn’t ye just say that we look like we’re men of our word?"

"You might be men of your word, but you’re also the Queen’s servants and you know that if anyone found out that I got into the vault, there’s be a whole lot of problems."

"And why don’t you tell us how you achieved that very impressive feat?" Lord Hart takes a sip from the glass he’d offered Eggsy. 

_Guess it wasn’t poisoned after all._

"Dunno, not really a guy who likes an audience."

"Consider it an act of good faith. You show us how it’s done, we’ll rescue your sister."

Eggsy considers the offer. He really does trust the pair, up to a point. He knows he can’t give them the Orb until Daisy’s safe with him, but he could show them how he got into the vault. It won’t cost him anything. 

He doesn’t say a word, he just transforms into smoke and shadow, drifting up to the ceiling and watches the First Minister and the Grand Wizard completely loose their shit. It’s kind of fun impressing such powerful people, and the imp of mischief that Eggsy rarely gets a chance to let out calls to him. He waits until both men’s backs are turns and he coalesces, pulls on their clothing, says "boo" and turns back to smoke and shadow. They spin around and Eggsy repeats the harmless prank.

The third time, he actually lets himself get caught; he pulls on their clothes and waits until they turn around before transforming. Merlin marshals some power for a spell - probably to capture him - but Eggsy drifts up to the ceiling again. There’s a large, sturdy wardrobe - it makes a perfect perch and Eggsy returns to solid form.

"Up here, milords." Eggsy watches the men - especially the wizard - carefully, but he doesn’t sense another attempt to spell-cast, but just to be safe, he tells them, "I’m faster that you, Lord Wizard. I can’t be tracked or bottled up."

Merlin glares at him, but Lord Hart just looks thoughtful. "You just move from place to place - is that it? You can go anywhere? That’s quite … impressive."

The top of the wardrobe is really uncomfortable and dusty and there might even be spiders up here, so Eggsy turns to smoke and shadow and drifts back down to the floor, returning to the settee. He’d taken a risk and let the magic work slow enough that his hosts can see the process.

"Not teleportation but transfiguration." Lord Hart says, mostly to himself. "Perhaps even more impressive. But with such a talent, why have you not just taken your sister and vanished?"

The question is a good one. "I can only carry small things when I transform - my clothes, a book, the Orb. My sister’s too big, and besides, Dean’s got her under lock and key, and he’s got some kind of thing that keeps me out. Something the Pretender’s people gave him. Every time I get near his rooms, I get sick."

That last bit of information makes Merlin frown. "Magebane is illegal in England. Possession of it means imprisonment for life. Use of it carries a death sentence."

Lord Hart adds, "It’s a crime included in the Statutes of Treason. Your stepfather will hang when we catch him."

"That fine with me, bruv. Dean’s a murderous bastard and he all but killed my mum. Can’t think of anyone who more deserves a hangman’s noose and a grave at a crossroads." Eggsy spends a few pleasant moments thinking about his stepfather’s demise. "Now, what about my sister? I showed you how I was able to get into the vault, you going to hold up your end of the bargain?"

Merlin and Lord Hart exchange a too-obvious look, but Lord Hart doesn’t prevaricate. "We’ll need to send a troop of mundanes with a pack of bane hounds to arrest your stepfather and take him into custody. The dogs work best in daylight - is tomorrow morning soon enough?"

"Yeah, tomorrow’s good. Got a pen and paper, need to give you the address." 

Lord Hart shows him to a desk and lays out what Eggsy needs. "Is there anything special about the building? Any other traps? Does he keep a guard?"

"Not other than the three morons you took care of at The Black Prince. Dean’s going to be all bugged out by what happened, but he probably won’t expect a direct attack. He’s stupid sneaky and thinks everyone else is like that. Still, you should be careful-like, just because Rottie’s an ugly moron don’t mean he can’t get lucky."

"Thank you, Eggsy. The Queen’s Guard will take every precaution. And trust me, Rottie and his comrades will likely shit their breeches when they see a pack of bane hounds. Terrifying beasts, truly."

"So, you’ll get my sister free tomorrow morning and arrest Dean? What about the Pretender? You ain’t worried about him?"

"No, not at all. The Pretender is a convenience, to be honest. A magnet for malcontents and those looking to subvert the natural law. We keep track of his movements and the nobles he’s associating with. Worth more to us alive than dead as a martyr."

"So you know he’s holed up in a house in Blackfriars, right? It’s got the same shit around it like Dean’s squat. Dean brought me with him when he wanted to show the Pretender that I could get the Orb. 'Cept I couldn’t change - just puked my guts out all over Dean’s new boots. As much as the Pretender hates magic, he seemed fair keen to have me use it to steal the Orb."

Lord Hart looks surprised. "I have to confess that I did not know the Pretender was on English soil. My intelligence network owes me a few explanations."

"He got here about a week ago - Dean’s been mostly working with this old fucker called Chester. Looks at Dean like he’s dirt - which he is - but Dean don’t see that. He seems to think that he and this Chester guy are tighter than Gloriana’s quim." Eggsy suddenly realizes who he’s talking to and mumbles an apology, "Sorry - no disrespect." 

Merlin actually laughs. "Don’t worry, lad. We’re heard - and said - worse. And don’t you worry about Charlie. His days are now numbered, as are his uncle’s. We’ll have your sister in your arms by this time tomorrow, and then you’ll return the Orb, and we’ll be square."

Eggsy can’t read any deceit in the Grand Wizard’s words. As scary a bloke as he is, he really does come across as a man of his word. The First Minister is actually a bit harder to read, but he doesn’t think that Lord Hart is the kind to double-cross, either. "All right, send word to The Black Prince and we’ll arrange to meet. When I’ve got Daisy safe, I’ll give you back the Orb." 

Just as Eggsy turns to smoke and shadow, he hears Merlin say, "Oh, no, my boy - ye aren’t going anywhere."

To his surprise, Eggsy is unable to ooze out through the cracks in the walls, or around the door, or even up the fireplace. The Grand Wizard might not be able to stop his transfiguration, but he seems to be able to block Eggsy from leaving.

Rather than batter himself against the walls, Eggsy rematerializes. "What’s the matter, don’t you trust me?"

Lord Hart saids with deceptive mildness, "Of course we do. But rather than worry that your stepfather gets his hands on you and forcing you to turn over the Orb, we’d prefer that you stay here, where we know you’ll be safe."

Eggsy lets out a huffy, put-upon sigh, "Well, I _guess_ I could stay in the palace. You got a place for me here, or are you sending me to the scullery?"

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	4. Chapter 4

Harry finds himself enchanted by their cocky thief - a bit too enchanted, actually. The boy is smart and Harry has always had an almost fatal weakness for smart. He knows that his husband won’t really care if he takes Eggsy to bed; Merlin’s power requires an odd kind of celibacy and he isn’t selfish enough to insist that Harry share that state. Over the years, Harry has taken lovers - all with Merlin’s blessing - and none of them have touched his emotions. But from the moment he had laid eyes on Eggsy, something about the boy had reached into his soul and _pulled_. 

It’s not lust - or just lust - but a deeper kind of attraction, and that makes any relationship with Eggsy dangerous. Harry can’t see himself abandoning his marriage, but the risk of emotional infidelity troubles him.

Once he’s secured Eggsy’s promise not to leave the palace by either mundane or supernatural means, Harry takes him to a small bedroom suite adjacent to the living quarters he shares with his husband. Merlin casts a privacy spell on the room but at Harry’s urging, doesn’t put a sealing spell on in. 

"We should trust the lad?" Merlin is skeptical. "With that power, he can come and go without anyone realizing it, or worse, decide to help himself to anything else in the vault."

"I know that, but the boy needs our help - he wouldn’t have reached out to me if he didn’t. He’ll stay put - it’s not just his life on the line, it’s his sister’s, and I think he would give anything to see her safe."

"You always did have a thing for young men in desperate straits, Harry."

"Does that bother you? That I look at Eggsy Unwin with desire?"

Merlin gives him a concerned look. "Harry, we’ve been married for twenty-three years. You’ve never once complained about the physical strictures I’ve put on our relationship - although they must have frustrated ye mightily. I have no call to be bothered by yer affections for needy lads."

Harry has to be honest. "I have a feeling that young Master Unwin is different from my usual flights of fancy. There’s something about him that calls to me."

"I have to admit that I feel something, too. The lad is rather … appealing."

Harry looks up, startled. "Merlin?"

"Oh, don’t get yer breeches knotted up. I don’t feel _that_. It’s just …" Merlin trails off, shaking his head. "I don’t know exactly how to describe it. Yes, I’m impressed by the magic in his veins - who wouldn’t be? But it’s more than that - he’s quick and smart, resourceful and loyal. There’s so much potential there. Something pulls me to him."

Harry nods, understanding just what Merlin’s saying.

"And he reminds me of ye, Harry Hart, when ye were his age. Ye were so desperate to prove yerself, ye wanted to save the world - or England, at least. Smartest man in the room and not afraid to show it. There isn’t much different between ye and that young laddie - just ye had a title and a loving father to back ye up when ye insisted on flinging yerself into the mouth of the dragon over and over again. It’s what made me fall in love with ye and I see the exact same quality in the lad. I don’t worry about him capturing yer heart because he’ll likely take mine, too."

Harry feels such a swell of emotion, love and longing and gratitude. "Merlin - "

Merlin touches the back of Harry’s hand, a swift and rare contact of skin to skin that means more than the most intimate of kisses. "Woo the lad if ye like. Give him everything he needs, everything _you_ need. I know where I stand with ye, that’ll never be in doubt." 

With that, Merlin gets up, his tone changing from soft affection to briskly businesslike. "I’ll need to tell Her Majesty what has transpired. Do ye wish me to have Percival and Tristan lead the guard tomorrow?"

Harry nods, still too overcome for words.

"And I’ll tell the kennel master to have the bane hounds ready as well."

Another nod.

"Then I’ll give yer regards to Her Majesty. She’ll likely want to talk with ye after all is said and done and the Pretender’s and his uncle’s in the Tower waiting for the hangman’s noose."

Merlin leaves and Harry sits in the steadily darkening room, uncomfortable in his own skin for the first time in many decades. He thinks of his husband, the man he’s loved for almost his entire life and he thinks of the bright and shining young man in the room next door, a creature of magic and wit and cunning. Loyal and brimming with promise, with potential.

He could take that potential and shape it into a weapon; that’s what he does, what he’s done for decades. Turned young men into weapons and sent them out into the world to protect the realm, to protect his liege. First Stephen, and then in the years of exile, Stephen’s younger daughter, Princess Elizabeth Roxanne, the Golden Gloriana, keeper of the Land and its magic.

Harry’s not wholly mundane - he has some small, innate powers that have helped him do what he does so well. Merlin has often claimed that Harry’s ability with sword and dagger is as magical as Merlin’s own ability with spells, but Harry know that that isn’t magic but a learned skill, honed through years of practice and training. No, Harry’s ability is to see the truth behind the words, to understand intent, and to cozen others into giving up their secrets all too eagerly. It had been what made him a brilliant spy for his princess during Maude’s disastrous reign and more recently, Gloriana’s chief diplomat. 

He could, all too easily, use that power to persuade young Eggsy into his bed. It’s not like he hasn’t done that before, but never for personal reasons - only for the greater good of the realm. The idea of using his magic on Eggsy is innately repulsive and Harry’s disgusted with himself for even letting the thought cross his mind.

Harry sits there, contemplating next steps. He’s not the least bit worried that Eggsy won’t return the Orb - it might be quixotic of him to trust the boy on such short acquaintance, but he does. It’s what comes after that’s consuming Harry.

By rights, Eggsy should belong to Merlin; after all, he’s a creature of magic and power. Merlin has often spoken of finding a worthy successor, and perhaps Eggsy could be that. And wouldn’t that make things all to awkward? Eggsy as Merlin’s pupil while Harry’s lusting after him? Harry shakes his head to dispel the thought.

The simple gesture doesn’t work and without conscious thought, Harry finds himself at the door separating this main room from the small bed chamber where he’d stashed Eggsy just a little while ago. He knocks once, softly, and there’s no reply. He taps again and doesn’t wait for an answer, opening the door and calling out.

A whole branch of candles are lit against the darkness, but there’s no sign of the boy. Harry sighs, saddened at the misplacement of his trust. He’s about to douse the candles - no need to waste good beeswax - when he notices a small trinket bouncing up and down in midair, as if it’s being tossed by an invisible wind.

The relief is profound. He watches the display carefully; the trinket - a small carved ivory ball - comes to rest for just a heartbeat and Harry can see Eggsy materialize for just long enough to catch and toss the ball back into the air.

"Very impressive, Eggsy. That must take quite a bit of control."

Eggsy re-materializes just as the ball hits his palm and this time, he stays solid. "I’ve had a bit of practice."

"It is a very useful talent - must get you out of trouble quite easily."

Eggsy makes a disgusted face. "It used to be fun, but since Dean decided he wanted to be the biggest bad man in Cheapside, I’m his go-to dog for the thieving and other shite he wants done."

"And if you don’t do what he wants, he threatens your sister?"

"Yeah - and before that, my mum. But he’s going to get what he deserves, right?"

Harry nods. "The mage bane alone will get him the gibbet. Scheming to overthrow the Queen is treason, and that means he’ll be hung, then cut down while he’s still alive, disemboweled, and tied to a team of horses that will pull him apart. His parts will be buried at a crossroads, his head stuck on a pike at the Tower for the ravens to pick at." Harry keeps an eye on Eggsy as he describes the gruesome death planned for the boy’s stepfather. 

Eggsy does turn a bit pale, but he doesn’t flinch. "Nothing less than what he deserves, bruv."

Harry asks with a great deal of pretended nonchalance, "What are your plans after tomorrow?" 

"Thought about leaving London, finding someplace in the country where I can raise Daisy. Maybe claim that she’s my daughter."

"And what will you do?"

Eggsy shrugs, "Dunno."

"I find it hard to believe that someone who had meticulously organized a theft of one of the most valuable objects in the realm just to get the attention of the Queen’s most powerful councillors hasn’t formulated a plan for his entire future."

Eggsy frowns and his lack of a snappy comeback worries Harry. "Eggsy?"

"It’s hard to plan when I got empty pockets, all right?" The boy looks away, a wounded expression on his face. 

_Ahhh._ While Harry comes from one of the oldest noble houses in England, he understands that feeling. His years of exile during Maude’s reign had been dangerously lean, weeks and months surviving on faint charity of supporters wary of publicly committing to the princess. "While some may quibble and say that you should be punished for stealing a royal treasure, no one can argue that helping the Crown capture the Pretender and his supporters in the midst of a treasonous plot doesn’t deserve a generous reward - something that will secure a safe future for your sister." 

"Provided I return the Orb."

"Of course. And now that that’s settled - what would you _like_ to do?"

Eggsy laughs. "Honestly, bruv, I don’t know. I’ve been planning on getting free of Dean for so long it’s been impossible to think beyond that. Got to stay close to home - make sure Daisy’s safe, so joining the army ain’t an option. Not that I’d want to become cannon fodder."

"That would be quite a waste with your talents. And is it really possible that you could be killed? Couldn’t you simply - " Harry makes a gesture with his hands, "turn to smoke to avoid the fatal blow?"

"Yeah, I guess - but I got to know that the blow’s coming, you know what I mean? Can’t dodge what I can’t see."

"I think there are better places for you than the army. Better than obscure villages, too."

Eggsy sits up, wary interest on his face. "What are you saying?"

"Her Majesty is always appreciative of loyal subjects with rare talents. I believe that Merlin would take you on as an apprentice in a heartbeat. You’d be treated well, your sister would have an education, a place in court when she’s old enough. Your future would be secured."

"Yeah, he’s already mentioned that." Eggsy licks his lips. "But I don’t know if I’m mage material, never done any real spell work."

"You’d learn. It won’t be easy, but it would be rewarding."

Eggsy nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. "What about you? Could I work for you? Would think that you could use a man of my talents."

Harry hadn’t let himself hope for a smidgen of interest. "And what type of work do you think I do?"

"Well, you said you have an intelligence network. So that must me you’re a spy - or you have spies working for you."

"And that’s something that interests you?" 

"If I could stay here in London, in the palace - need to keep close to my sister." Eggsy sounds brave, but Harry doesn’t need to use his small talents to tell how nervous and hopeful Eggsy is.

"It’s not easy, being a spy. Your magic gives you an amazing advantage, but you’d need to change, adapt, become part of the world you want to get information from."

"Become all posh and noble-like?"

"Possibly. There are many roles you could play here at court."

"Don’t want to be someone’s servant," Eggsy quick to say. "Not interested in cleaning up after anyone, running their errands, if that’s what you mean."

"There’s no shame in service, Eggsy." Harry himself had played the role of loyal retainer, back in his early days. "But I can understand why that role would hold no appeal to you right now. I would need to think about what type of training would work best for you, but provided everything goes according to plan tomorrow, I would be honored to have you work for me."

"What about my sister?"

"It would be the same as if you were Merlin’s apprentice. She’d live with you, receive an education fit for a lady of good birth, and when she comes of age, she will be given a place at court - or a marriage arranged, if you prefer."

"Not my place to choose for her, but that’ll be a while yet. Just want her safe, that’s all. She’s all I’ve got left of my mum."

Once again, Harry’s struck to the heart by Eggsy’s love and loyalty, and he wants to reward that. "Then we’ll make sure that happens."

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	5. Chapter 5

Roxanne listens as Merlin relays the events of the day - the stolen Orb, the young man with extraordinary powers, and the revelation that Charlie FitzHesketh has been in London for at least a week, plotting her overthrow with his repulsive uncle.

She waits until Merlin finishes before she comments. "Magebane? He’s foolish enough to use the one thing that will earn him a death sentence?"

"Charlie has never been known for his intelligence. And it’s possible that his uncle gave it to him - Chester King has never been shy about expressing his opinion about magic and the Crown’s powerful ties to the Realm. We’ve known that he’s been contracting with alchemists, but we haven’t been able to find proof that they’ve been distilling magebane for him. The ones we’ve been able to trace have all died in rather suspicious circumstances."

Roxanne has always taken seriously the threat to her reign that Charlie and his uncle pose. Charlie doesn’t have a legitimate claim to the throne, but if he can persuade enough of the nobility that Crown magic is an abomination, then he can throw the realm’s hard-won peace and stability into the winds. 

"And the thief?" Roxanne is more intrigued than worried by this part of Merlin’s news. "A man who can turn to smoke and shadow? That is a power that hasn’t been seen in the realm since Margot Plantagenet sat on the throne. What do you know about this thief? Who are his parents?"

Merlin withers a bit under her interrogation. "I don’t know much about him, and I must apologize - I’d forgotten about Margot, my liege. The boy is intelligent, has some education, but comes from rough stock. The only thing I know for certain is that he lives in Cheapside, his mother is dead, his stepfather is a petty criminal and is in league with the Pretender. He’d had forced him to steal the Orb by threatening to put his five year old sister into a brothel."

Roxanne doesn’t comment on the nature of the blackmail, but her stomach turns in revulsion. "What is his name?"

"He calls himself Eggsy, but that’s not his birth name. His family name is Unwin, though."

The name sparks a memory. "There had been an Unwin in my personal guard, he’d died protecting me from one of Maude’s assassination attempts." Since childhood, Roxanne had made it a point of knowing all of her guards’ names. "I believe he’d had a family - I’d sent what coin I could spare. I should have done more."

"We don’t know if it’s the same family, Majesty."

Roxanne issues a terse order. "Find out. I don’t like loose ends and I like coincidences even less."

Merlin nods, "As you command, my Queen. I will ask him"

Roxanne changes her mind about those instructions. "No, wait. I wish to meet this thief - even if he’s not related to my late guardsman. Bring him to me tomorrow, after you and Harry have rounded up the traitors, and I’ll ask him."

Roxanne is gratified to see Merlin taken aback. It’s been a long time since she’s surprised her loyal wizard. 

"Majesty, is that wise? I have not found a way to mitigate his power. He could very easily kill you. This whole thing with the Orb and his stepfather could be a clever pretense to obtain access to you."

"That is quite possible, but it is a risk I’m willing to take." 

Merlin is still troubled and rather than argue endlessly with him, Roxanne dismisses him. When one of her ladies asks if she wishes for company, Roxanne declines. Her wizard has given her much to think about, and while her ladies know how much their queen hates idle chatter, she wants no distractions for the next hour, not when she needs to lose herself in memory.

_Lee Unwin had been a cheeky young man, the kind who turned the heads of her ladies with his bright smile and meaningless flirtation. At first, Roxanne hadn’t approved and had wanted him reassigned, but her captain had talked her her out of that move. Young Sergeant Unwin had been the best marksman in the guard, smart and fearless, with good leadership qualities. The captain had taken his Princess’ worries serious and cautioned Unwin about being too familiar with her ladies. To everyone’s relief, Sergeant Unwin had toned down his smiles, but he always had a wink for Her Highness._

_The winter of Queen Maude’s third year on the throne had been a disaster for everyone; Maude miscarried for the fifth time and her attempts to flex some military might on her Spanish husband’s behalf had gone badly. Naturally, she had blamed Roxanne for everything - Roxanne and the magic in her blood. In punishment, Roxanne been kept under house arrest at Woodstock, and the gardens seeded with magebane. Roxanne couldn’t leave, but she’d sent all of her ladies sent home, unwilling to see them suffer the effects of the poison._

_Roxanne had wanted to spare her guardsmen, too, but her captain wouldn’t hear of letting a single man go or replacing the mage-born with mundanes. "They are trained for this, my princess. Please allow them to do their jobs."_

_She’d backed down, only after the captain agreed to reduced shifts; Roxanne had also insisted that the guardsmen take short breaks inside the house, where the effects of the magebane aren’t so devastating. Propriety dictated that Roxanne kept to her rooms when a guardsman was inside on the principle that a princess, even one under constant threat of execution, shouldn’t become overly familiar with soldiers. But Roxanne, lonely without the company of her ladies, couldn’t be bothered with such pointless strictures and made a point of getting to know the all of the young men willing to risk their health for her. Her reputation could certainly withstand a few minutes of conversation, certainly?_

_It had been during one of these interludes that Roxanne learned a bit more about Sergeant Lee Unwin._

_"Tell me about yourself." Roxanne has never been one for coy dialogue. "Where are you from?"_

_"I’m London born and bred, so were my mam and da. They’ve never left Cheapside in all their lives. It’s funny but me - going all the way to Woodstock - is like traveling to the moon to them."_

_Roxanne, who’d been born in her father’s battle encampment at Hadrian’s Wall and has travelled the length of England a dozen times, could barely fathom such a limited life. "I am sorry this posting is so dreadful. England is such a beautiful country."_

_The sergeant smiled and shook his head. "It’s an honor to serve you, Your Highness. And I hope to travel the world when I’m in your guard. Maybe see France, where my grandda was born. My grandma always told that he’d been born in a place called Ruin."_

_Roxanne blinked at that bit of strangeness before she realized that Unwin meant Rouen, a city in Northern France. "Odd that your grandmother married a Frenchman. Was he a merchant?"_

_Unwin bit his lip and gave her a shy look. "They weren’t married, and my grandda wasn’t a merchant. More of a soldier, I guess."_

_"Ah, well - that does happen." Roxanne had never been one to get fussy about such things, especially amongst her guardsmen. "He made promises and didn’t keep them?"_

_Sergeant Unwin shocked her with his bluntness. "No, my grandmother was a whore and my grandda was already married. Not that he would have married the likes of her, even if he’d been free. A little too high up, and my grandmother was a bit of a cat - one who liked to look, if you get my meaning."_

_Roxanne had the feeling that Unwin had been trying to tell her something, that he’s laying out pieces of a puzzle for her to put together. She sorted through the few facts Unwin had given her and came up with something both highly improbable and really rather possible. "There’s an old saying, 'a cat may look at a king'. Are you trying to tell me that Edward Plantagenet was your grandfather?"_

_Unwin grinned. "So my grandmother used to swear, 'though she’d probably spread her thighs for a dozen men that same week. But it’s a nice story, no?"_

_In her twenty-two years, Roxanne had met her fair share of her great-uncle’s bastards - or rather, men and women who claimed that they were royal get. Since she was a true-blood Plantagenet, it had easy enough for her to prove or disprove. There was no reason not to offer Lee Unwin the chance to learn the truth. "Would you like to find out?"_

_"How?"_

_"I can tell by touching your skin."_

_Unwin seemed intrigued. "Even with all the magebane?"_

_"Magebane will block any spells a practitioner tries to cast and it makes anyone with magic in their blood sick, but it doesn’t stop that magic from working. I can tell who you are and where you are from - your whole family line - right from your skin. It is part of my innate magic. If you want to find out if your grandfather really was King Edward, all you have to do is let me touch your hand."_

_Roxanne held out her hand, palm up and Unwin looked her in the eye for a long minute before shaking his head. "I don’t think this is a wise idea, Your Highness. It’s best I remain your lowborn guardsman, a simple and loyal fellow who is honored to serve you."_

_Roxanne lowered her hand and understood. "Perhaps that is a wise choice, Sergeant Unwin. Her Majesty does not look on her uncle’s by-blows with favor."_

_"I think my wife and boy will be a lot safer not knowing."_

_Before Roxanne could ask Unwin about his family, they both heard approaching footsteps._

_"That will be my captain telling my I need to get back on patrol. If I may take my leave?"_

_Roxanne nodded and dismissed Sergeant Unwin, a bit sad that this interesting interlude is over._

A week later, her half-sister, Maude, had summoned Roxanne to Westminster to account for the magic in her blood; a hundred yards from the palace gates, her party had been attacked without warning by a gang of bullies and bravos. Sergeant Unwin threw himself between her and a knife-wielding assassin, and had been killed by a poisoned blade. Maude. in her madness, had blamed Roxanne for inciting the assault. She'd sent Roxanne to the Tower for more than a fortnight, pending execution for a whole host of made-up crimes - all relating to acts of magic. By the time Maude had relented and sent Roxanne back to Woodstock, it had been too late to make sure that Sergeant Unwin was buried with honors and not in some anonymous pauper’s grave.

Feeling guilty and grieving over a wasted life, Roxanne had raided her nearly empty treasure to ensure that the Unwin family is taken care of - at least for a while - sending her captain to Lee’s widow to give her the purse and a small medal of valor, as well as the promise of a future boon. 

Roxanne sighs at the long-forgotten memories - she should have done more for the brave guardsman, she should have followed up and made certain his family had been taken care of - there’s no excuse for that. As for the thief - she’ll get the truth of who he is, even if she has to pull it from his skin.

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	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Violence and thoughts of violence (including rape). Non-canon death of minor canon character.

Dean Baker, petty criminal with dreams of power, is in a rage. His mutts have fucked things up by going after Muggsy in The Black Prince, chasing him out of Cheapside before he’s turned over the Orb. Dean vaguely remembers telling Rottie that the boy is free game - but only after Eggsy’s delivered the goods.

Now Muggsy’s in the wind - and if Stinking George at the Prince is to believed, he’s got some powerful protectors. George had once been a palace guard and swears that the First Minister himself had been at the Prince and taken down Rottie and Poodle and Ratter without even breaking a sweat. And even worse, he thinks that the other bloke there was the High Mage.

Which means that the Queen might know that the Orb’s been stolen - if the little shit hadn’t lied to him.

Dean paces the length and breadth of the room, giving Rottie a kick each time he passes by. Poodle and Ratter are combing Cheapside, looking for Muggsy’s den, and hopefully, the Orb, but while Dean loathes his stepson, he’s not foolish enough to believe that the boy’s stupid. If he hasn’t lied about the success of the theft, the boy’s got the thing secreted away someplace where Dean will never find it.

The only leverage Dean has is Michelle’s brat; the useless girl is the only thing Muggsy seems to care about. He’s told Poodle and Ratter that they should put the word out that unless Muggsy turns up by sunset, the brat’s going to Madame Goodcunt’s. He ain’t making empty threats - his partner in this venture, Lord Chester, has told him that he will be expecting to take delivery of the Orb when the bells of St. Paul’s chime at midnight. Chester’s done being patient and if Dean doesn’t produce the Orb, he’s going to find himself very dead.

Normally, Dean Baker ain’t scared of any toffy-britches noble, but there’s something about the old man that makes Dean’s balls shrink to the size of dried peas. So, if Muggsy doesn’t show up with the Orb tonight, Dean’s going to have to leave his cozy digs in Cheapside and go into hiding.

That sends him back into a rage and he starts kicking Rottie again, who’s lost the will to even moan in protest, which makes the brutality a lot less satisfying. 

Dean could take out his rage on the brat, but Gazelle, the slut he’s been paying to take care of the girl is weirdly protective. She’s also got a nasty pair of knives and when Rottie had tried to get a leg over her, she’d practically cut off his balls. Not for the first time does Dean worry that Gazelle will forget whose paying her and will use those knives on him when he takes the brat to the brothel.

Well, Dean Baker ain’t going to be cowed by a cunt and he’ll slice her to ribbons if she tries anything on _him_. 

Maybe he should just go down to the Prince and beat the shit out of Stinking George, just for the hell of it. Dean grabs his cloak and is about to head out when an unearthly howl rises up from the street. First one cry and then another, and then dozen dogs are baying. These are not the sounds made any of the stray curs that slink around Cheapside, begging for food, turning over the piles of refuse and fighting over scraps. No, the unearthly howls are from a pack of demon hounds hunting for something - or worse, someone. 

It ain’t the first time he’s heard the cries of a pack of demon hounds - a couple of years after Bloody Maude died, the new queen sent the pack through Cheapside, looking for traitors. Back then, Dean Baker had been a nobody with no greater ambition than to keep his belly full and his head down and those hounds hadn’t even sniffed in his direction. 

But now, those beasts could be looking for him. He’s been playing deep with people who want to see a new arse on the throne and if Stinking George is right, then Muggsy’s in the hands of the bastards closest to the Queen. Dean’s pretty sure that Muggsy won’t grass him out; no matter how many times Dean’s put Muggsy in harm’s way, Muggsy’s kept his trap shut, taking the beating or spending a week in lockup instead of ratting on Dean or the mutts. Maybe it’s because Muggsy’s always known that whatever he does against Dean will be revisited on his mum and sister. 

Well, Michelle is dead, but Dean’s still got the brat - so Muggsy should have kept quiet. Unless he couldn’t - who knows what tortures he’s been put through?

The baying hounds are definitely closer and Gazelle comes out of the brat’s room, looking more wild-eyed than usual. "What have you done?"

If Dean hadn’t been distracted by the noise from the demon hounds, he’d have taken the nursemaid down with the back of his hand. "Ain’t done nothing, bitch. You go back and mind the brat like you’re paid to."

Gazelle shakes her head. "Those hounds are coming for you. I can hear your name in their cries."

Dean takes a step towards Gazelle; belting her bloody will definitely make him feel better. But he doesn’t get close - she’s drawn one of her wicked knives and the point has already parted the wool across his belly. It’s a matter of self-preservation when he steps back.

"Things will be different after tomorrow, bitch. The brat’s going to Goodcunt’s and you will get down on your knees for me, whenever I tell you to, if you don’t want me to set my dogs on you." 

Whatever Gazelle is about to say is drowned out by the hell-hounds. They are at his door, making a racket loud enough to wake the dead.

Then silence reigns as someone calls out his name.

"Dean Baker! You are under arrest for possession and use of magebane. Come out peaceably and turn yourself over to the Queen’s Justice."

Gazelle smirks at him. "It looks like you’re going to be the one on his knees, Baker."

Guardsmen are banging on the front door, which sets the brat in the other room wailing. Gazelle laughs and goes back to her charge, locking the door behind her.

Baker has visions of going down fighting, maybe taking a few of the guards with him. He kicks Rottie again, "Get up, you bastard, it’s our lives at stake."

Rottie doesn’t respond, his eyes are open and unfocused, blood trickling from his mouth. 

"You dead? You stupid fuck - you died on me?" Dean kicks Rottie a few more times for good measure and reaches underneath the corpse for the sticker Rottie had been so proud of. Dean had a policy of never carrying a weapon - that’s what his mutts are for. But there are no mutts around to protect him and he’s not going to go down easily. Rottie’s too heavy for Dean to heave about, so he’s now completely undefended.

The guardsmen have broken through the front door and Dean hears way too many boots pounding up the stairs. The unnerving cries of those demon hounds have started again.

The door is flung open and two of the Queen’s Guard - high-rankings officers by all the gold braid on their hats and cloaks - march into the room. One of them repeats the charges announced from the street. 

"You got the wrong man - I don’t know no Dean Baker." Dean plays the only card he can - maybe these bastards don’t know his face and will let him go.

One of the guardsmen snaps his fingers and there’s a demon-hound in the room. The dog is massive, brindle and blood red fur, the top of its enormous head is level with Dean’s shoulder and its jaws look like they could crush a bull’s skull. The beast takes two steps towards Dean and howls; Dean feels his bladder let go at the terrifying sound.

One of the guardsmen shakes his head. "You may or may not be Dean Baker, but you’ve got the stench of magebane all over you and that means you’re going to dance at the end of a rope." 

Both guardsmen reach for Dean, but Dean isn’t a man who’s going to let someone else decide when he’s going to die. He makes a dash for the window and instead of flinging himself down onto the cobbles, he trips over Rottie’s corpse, bangs his head on the window ledge and blacks out.

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"Eggsy?"

Eggsy looks up from the borrowed book he’s reading - a history of magic in England. It’s interesting, even though there are a lot of words that Eggsy doesn’t really understand. Harry Hart, though, is a lot more interesting, especially the way he’s leaning against the door frame, smiling broadly.

"What’s up?" Eggsy doesn’t know if he should trust that smile.

"The Queen’s Guard has taken your step-father into custody."

Eggsy sits up, "And my sister? Is everything all right? Dean didn’t hurt her?"

"She’s right here - so you can judge for yourself." Harry steps aside and there’s a young woman, dark hair and dark eyes and a wary expression on her face, carrying Daisy. 

But Eggsy doesn’t care about nursemaid right now; all he can see is his baby sister, and he reaches for her. Daisy, though, buries her face in the woman’s shoulder and whimpers in fear.

"Daisy-love? You remember your big bruv?" Since his mum’s death almost a year ago, Dean’s done his best to keep Eggsy away from Daisy and he’s always been afraid she won’t recognize him.

But the woman holding Daisy has an explanation. "Last few weeks, Baker had kept a pot of magebane in the baby’s room, made her right sick. It’ll take a bit until she’s back to herself again."

Eggsy swallows his rage against his stepfather - how could he do something so evil to an innocent child? But then, Dean was going to sell his four-year-old daughter to a brothel, so exposing her to magebane isn’t that much of a stretch.

The nursemaid sees his anger and smiles. "Baker will get what’s coming for him and no one’s going to hurt this precious child again." She bounces Daisy in her arms and the little girl looks up from where she’d been hiding. "Do you remember your brother, sweetie? You used to tell me all about him."

Daisy turns and looks around, "Eggy? Eggy here?"

This time, Eggsy approaches slowly, not wanting to startle Daisy out of the fragile peace. "Hello there, my little flower. It’s me, Eggsy? Do you remember me?"

This time, Daisy does, and she squeals in ear-piercing joy, flinging her arms out for him. The nursemaid laughs and hands the wriggling child over. Eggsy is almost overcome with happiness, his sister is safe.

He takes Daisy over to the bed and lets her babble at him. Compared to how vocal she’d been as a three-year-old, Daisy’s words don’t make much sense; Eggsy’s hoping that’s just the magebane and it will wear off. She’s too thin, and while she’s clean and looks reasonably well cared for, Daisy isn’t the same vibrant child she’d been before Dean gave him the boot after his mother had died. 

But Eggsy will fix that - he has the promise of good and gainful employment from the First Minister himself, which will include care and education for Daisy. He just has to do one thing to ensure that those promises are kept.

"Mind watching Daisy for a little while longer, mistress?"

The nursemaid nods. "My name’s Gazelle, and I’m hoping that maybe you’ll want to keep me on. I’m right fond of the little dumpling."

"We can talk when I get back." Eggsy looks over at Lord Hart. "Can we discuss matters in private, my lord?"

Harry leads him into his own quarters, where the High Mage is waiting. "Matters to discuss, Eggsy? I hope you’re not going to prove my trust in you misplaced." Lord Hart growls and the aggression sends a shiver up Eggsy’s spine. The feeling isn’t altogether unpleasant.

"No, sir - not at all. You promised to bring me my sister and I promised to return the Orb to you. You’ve brought me my sister."

Merlin reminds Eggsy of his duty. "And now ye owe us one Orb of State. Do ye want to tell us where it is so we can retrieve it or are ye planning to take us to it." 

"Don’t need to do either." Eggsy’s magic isn’t restricted to his ability to turn to smoke and shadow, and he’s pleased to be able to demonstrate this talent. He makes a gesture with this right hand, which opens a glowing portal a little bigger than a cannon ball. He reaches inside and grabs the Orb. When he pulls it free, the portal collapses with a pop. 

"Your Orb, my lords." Eggsy offers it to the High Mage with a flourish and enjoys the man’s drop-jawed expression.

"How, in the name of all the Holies did you do that?"

Eggsy shrugs. "Something I’ve always been able to do. My mum could do it also - she was the one who taught me that."

Lord Hart seems just as flabbergasted. "That is Royal magic, Eggsy. Only true-blood Plantagenets can do a working like that."

"Don’t know about that." Eggsy shrugs and hopes these two men can’t see through his dissembling. He’s spent a lifetime keeping his mum’s secret, he’s not going to spill it here and now. "Probably a myth, you know - something for the bards to sing about."

Hart nods, but Eggsy finds his "Perhaps" a bit unconvincing. 

Merlin, though, seems less interested in the parlor trick - the Orb is the focus of his attention. "The thing is humming. What did you do to it?"

"It was always humming, from the moment I got into the vault. Probably still happy from the Samhain ritual. Got some royal blood to drink, right?" Eggsy had watched the whole thing from a conveniently shadowed corner of the Great Throne Room.

Merlin shakes his head. "I’ve handled the Orb after each ritual and it’s never sung like this. Not so I could hear it, at least."

Eggsy shrugs and starts to worry. "I didn’t do nothing to it. Just took it, made sure it stayed safe, and gave it back to you." He casts an eye over at Lord Hart, who is looking at him with an unreadable expression. "You know, maybe it would be best if I stuck with my original plan and take my sister and leave London. Get out of your hair, if you know what I mean."

Merlin stops him before he can go retrieve Daisy, not with magic but with words. "Her Majesty has commanded an audience with ye, lad. I’ve been ordered to bring ye to her after ye return the Orb. She’s very interested in ye."

 _Shit._ This is the last things Eggsy wants - the direct and personal attention of the Golden Gloriana herself. He’d do his disappearing act, but that would mean leaving Daisy hostage - and while he doesn’t imagine that the Queen would actively mistreat his sister, he knows she wouldn’t be treated _well_.

"What’s the matter, lad? Don’t you want to meet Her Majesty? I am fairly certain she is pleased with you - bringing a treasonous plot to light."

" _Fairly_ certain?"

Merlin smiles and it’s not a pleasant expression. "It would be too presumptuous for me to speak on her behalf. The Queen wishes to see you and her reasons are her own. Now, come along."

Eggsy looks over at Lord Hart, but there’s no quarter to be found there. "The Queen wishes to meet you, that is a great honor, Eggsy."

It’s an honor he’d like to forego. "She could probably kill me with a touch of her little finger."

"Not probably, definitely." Lord Hart grins like a wolf standing over its bloody kill. "There really is nothing to be afraid of, Eggsy."

There’s plenty to be afraid of, Eggsy thinks. His whole scheme had been contingent on staying out of the Queen’s eye. But he’d been too naive to think that the First Minister and the High Mage wouldn’t tell their mistress what had happened, how some gutter snipe had managed to get into the vault and steal the Orb, and that’s a feat sure to intrigue the Golden Gloriana.

But he doesn’t have much of a choice - fleeing into the air is not an option when he can’t take Daisy with him. Besides, he’s got promise of employment and a way to give Daisy a bright future if he stays. He just needs to keep his cool and remember his mum’s instructions about not letting a royal Plantagenet touch him.

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	7. Chapter 7

Roxanne selects her garb with an eye towards intimidation. That, in and of itself is nothing unusual. She lacks her father’s towering height and her mother’s legendary beauty, but she has a spine of steel and power in her blood and she’s never afraid of putting those qualities on display. Her ladies select crimson velvet just a shade darker than freshly spilled blood, trimmed with black and touches of gold.

She’s already received word that the traitors supporting the Pretender have been arrested - there aren’t many of them and they probably wouldn’t have gotten far in their scheme, but it’s better to finally salt this plot at the roots than let it slowly flourish in the darkness. Chester King - and Roxanne grimaces at that name - is in the Tower, as is the Pretender himself. Word is that Charlie FitzHesketh had soiled his breeches when the Guard arrested him, then demanded a warm bath and servants to attend upon him at the Tower.

He was, of course, denied.

The other players - a petty criminal, the alchemists who had brewed the magebane, a handful of old Queen Maude’s supporters, have been locked away in less salubrious quarters. There will be trials, because England is a law bound by law, but the outcome will not differ. They will all die for their crimes, their heads mounted on pikes at the gates of Westminster Palace, limbs and torsos hacked up and burned, ashes scattered along the coast of England.

Roxanne isn’t the least bit troubled by that; she’d have never survived Maude’s reign of terror or the difficult years when the coffers were empty and the people were hungry if she was the least bit squeamish. That is not to say she’s looking forward to those executions, it’s just something that needs to be done.

Unlike meeting with the thief who brought the plot to her attention; she doesn’t have to convey her appreciation in person. A stipend, perhaps even a small title, a place at court for the man’s family would be a significant show of gratitude, at least under ordinary circumstances. But the circumstances aren’t ordinary, not when the their bears the family name of a guardsman who’d died saving her life.

Or when the thief carries magic only seen in the royal lineage. 

Roxanne can’t decide which is more compelling. There’s a bit of romance in the story - the son of a guardsman who’d died protecting her comes into her life with evidence of a plot to steal her throne. Except Roxanne Elizabeth has never been a romantic. 

From a practical standpoint, it’s the magic that truly interests her; it might mean that the thief has royal blood in his veins, that the tale Lee Unwin had told her so long ago was true. And that could present an interesting conundrum. Roxanne has made it a practice of subtly acknowledging her base-borne cousins; her uncle, King Edward, has been a profligate whoremonger and almost supernaturally fertile, planting his seed in high-born woman and low. As of this year, there are twenty-three noble families who have the royal bar sinister on their family crest, and three dozen common households who have benefitted from royal patents attesting to the blood relationship with the Plantagenets. But not one of them has any significant magic in their blood.

Nor can any of those families can make a claim to the throne - law and the magic of the realm are clear on that score. It just suits Roxanne to be magnanimous; these distaff Plantagenets are amongst her strongest and most vocal allies. But this thief might not be content to accept such simple accolades, and perhaps the Crown owes the man a bit more, anyway - especially if he’s Lee Unwin’s son.

Merlin has sent a messenger ahead of his arrival and Roxanne positions herself on the throne-like chair in the formal audience chamber. The room is lit to give her maximum impact, torches and candelabra set her in wavering light and shadow; dressed in red and black and gold, Roxanne knows she looks rather otherworldly.

The guard opens the door and Merlin comes in, carrying the Orb. A young man in clean but ragged clothing who is definitely Lee Unwin’s son is hiding behind him. Her First Minister brings up the rear. When the guard shuts the door, the heavy _thonk_ of the latch makes the thief jump and look around. He catches her gaze and drops his eyes to the floor - the boldness that Merlin had described to her is definitely not in evidence now.

"Your Majesty - the Orb has been returned." Merlin hands her the object with a flourish, and the moment Roxanne touches it, she can feel that the song is slightly different. The stone - rumored to have been carved from a piece of a star that dropped out of the sky on the day her many-times great-grandfather, William, won the throne at Hastings - has always sung to her. That is proof of her rightful stewardship over the realm. She had been told that the Orb’s song changes when in comes in presence of the rightful heir, but as she has not had children _yet_ and she is her father’s last-born child, Roxanne has no way of knowing that for certain.

But this thief can’t be her heir, even if Lee’s tale of his grandmother and Edward Plantagenet is true. The realm’s magic requires a bonding between the heir’s parents, not just the mere act of coupling between a lascivious prince and an opportunistic whore.

Roxanne hands the Orb back to Merlin, who cradles it in his gloved hands and steps aside, leaving the thief front and center.

"What is your name?"

"Eggsy, Eggsy Unwin."

"Eggy? That’s a strange name."

"It’s Eggsy, Your Majesty. A nickname my da gave me." The man keeps his eyes trained on the floor, clearly cowed by her attention.

"I knew your father." Roxanne tosses out that bit of information like a firebrand onto a pile of kindle.

Eggsy looks up at her, like a startled rabbit. "You did?"

"He was part of my guard before I took the throne. He died saving my life."

Eggsy nods. "My mum used to say that my da had died in battle. I remember a man coming to tell her he’d fallen in honorable service. Gave my mum a medal."

"I’d commissioned it in your father’s memory. I’d been held at the Tower by Queen Maude for weeks after your father had been killed. I still wish I’d been able to do more for him - and for your family."

To Roxanne’s delight, Eggsy pulls something out from under his shirt collar and holds it up. "Still have it - the only thing I got from my da, except my name."

Roxanne gets up and steps down from the throne, approaching Eggsy with deliberate steps. Eggsy glances to Merlin and then to Harry and flings a look over his shoulder at the door.

"Merlin tells me that you don’t need to worry about such things as locked doors. That you can escape through the smallest gap unless the chamber is magically sealed." Roxanne reaches out to touch Eggsy and he vanishes. "Oh, you’re no fun. Didn’t anyone tell you it’s not nice to disappear while in the presence of your Queen?" Roxanne keeps her tone light, just a touch mocking.

Eggsy reappears a few feet away. "Sorry, Your Majesty. But I’m not accustomed to being in the presence of royalty. No one’s taught me how to behave."

"Well, you can start by showing proper obeisance."

"Don’t know that word, Majesty."

"It means that when you in the presence of royalty, you should kneel." Roxanne lets threads of power echo through that last word, a minor compulsion to force Eggsy’s compliance.

But Eggsy does not comply - her words and power seem to have no effect. He takes another step away from her and Roxanne shakes her head. "This is really getting ridiculous; I am not going to chase you around the room."

"You want to touch me. I don’t like being touched." Eggsy’s voice rises in panic.

Roxanne narrows her eyes, reading the half-truth there. "Oh, I think you just don’t want _me_ to touch you. Why is that?"

Eggsy finally stands still and he meets her gaze. "I’d been told to never let a true-blood Plantagenet touch me. It would mean my death."

That stops Roxanne in her tracks. "Who told you that?"

"My mum. She said her own mother told her that, and made her swear to teach her children the same thing. Always thought it was ridiculous. When would some low-born Desmond kin ever be in the presence of a Royal Plantagenet?"

"Desmond?" Roxanne is struck by that name.

"My great-grandmother was born in Ireland, so my mum said."

Roxanne feels like she’s been trying to solve the wrong puzzle. "Your mother, not your father."

"Don’t really remember my da at all, except him calling me his Little Egg."

"And your mother - did she have the same abilities you have?"

"A few - she could transform, but it took a lot out of her. She couldn’t do it as fast as I can, or as often. Then my stepfather started carrying the shit you call magebane and she got sick and couldn’t do anything."

"Hmmm." Roxanne knows there’s only one way to solve this. "You have to let me touch you, and I promise that it will not harm you."  
"Why? What will touching me do?"

"It will tell me who you really are. Seventeen years ago, your father told me an amusing story - how his grandmother claimed to have slept with Edward of York and gotten a child from him. I’d offered to prove the truth of that story to him, simply by touching his hand."

"You can do that?"

Roxanne nods. "It is part of my heritage as a true-blood Plantagenet - to see my bloodline in others."

"And what did you see when you touched my da?"

"I didn’t see anything; he’d declined the offer and I didn’t press. Back then, it could be difficult to claim royal lineage, even if it was illegitimate. My half-sister was not kind to the distaff branches of the family."

"But it’s my mum who said never to let a royal Plantagenet touch me."

"Which is what I find so curious - why would your maternal line have such concerns?" Roxanne return to the throne and sits; she needs a bit of distance and space to figure this out. "I don’t suppose you have a portrait of your mother?"

Eggsy laughs, "We’re Cheapsiders, Your Majesty. We don’t get our portraits painted."

Roxanne nods, but doesn’t really pay attention to the answer; she is consumed by the puzzle that Eggsy Unwin presents.

Harry clears his throat, drawing her attention.

"Yes, Lord Hart?"

"Transformation isn’t Master Unwin’s only ability, Your Majesty."

Roxanne looks over at Eggsy. "Oh? What else can you do?"

Eggsy shoots Harry a look that can only be described as betrayal. "I can hide things away and retrieve them. Like what I did with the Orb."

"Show me," Roxanne commands. If Eggsy can do what she thinks he’s describing, it’s further proof of her theory.

And he does, making a gesture with his right hand and reaches into a small dark hole that floats about eye-height. He pulls out a packet of papers wrapped in a frayed and faded red ribbon. 

Eggsy has just proven Roxanne’s supposition correct - that skill is another royal talent that hasn’t been seen since her grandfather’s day. But Roxanne isn’t prepared to say anything yet. "What have you got there?"

Eggsy looks torn as he turns the bundle of papers over in his hands. "These were my mum’s - she said the were her family’s marriage lines, but I never looked at 'em. She told me to keep 'em safe, not to let Dean or anyone else see them."

"Dean?" Is this a name that Roxanne should know?

Harry fills in, "Master Unwin’s stepfather, Dean Baker - the criminal who had been in league with the Pretender. We apprehended him this morning." 

Roxanne nods and turns her attention back to Eggsy. "May I see them?"

Eggsy shakes his head, after all, his mother had told him not to let anyone look at them. "Don’t know if I should."

"It may mean I won’t have to touch you and read your blood."

That does the trick and Eggsy approaches the throne and hands them to her. She doesn’t comment at the breach of protocol, she’s far too interested in the contents of those papers. The ribbon is attached to a broken red wax seal and Roxanne’s fingertips tingle when she touches it. The taste of the magic is familiar - it’s definitely Plantagenet - but it’s not one she’s encountered with great frequency. What Roxanne finds inside that envelope confirms his suspicions. Eggsy is her cousin, not on his father’s side, but on his mother’s.

And the line has been magically bonded and blessed. Roxanne smiles, this is a gift she’d never expected to receive.

"Well? What’s it say?"

"You’ve really never read these papers?"

"Nope - my mum said not to, and I’m a good son."

"You are, Master Unwin. Although, rightfully, I should call you Master Plantagenet." Roxanne takes extreme enjoyment in her audience’s reactions. Both of her councillors look like the are about to pass out, and Eggsy - well - he seems like he’s been hit with a hammer.

Roxanne puts them out of their misery and explains. "I am sure you know your history - that I had two great-uncles; Edward, who was the fifth king of that name, and George, the Duke of Clarence. Edward was very fertile and also very unlucky. He spawned a clan of bastards the length and breadth of England, but none of the ten children he had with his lady wife, Elizabeth, lived to adulthood. His nearest brother, George, was not as profligate with his seed, but he’d still managed to get in trouble. When he was fifteen, he’d gotten his godfather’s eldest daughter pregnant and they’d married in secret - a union blessed by both the Church and the Land. Of course, the girl’s father had not been happy about this; at the time, the House of York had been under attainder by the Crown, which had been held by the Lancastrian branch of the family. The girl’s father was the Earl of Desmond. Her name was Honor FitzGerald."

Roxanne waits for that information to sink in. Of course, Harry and Merlin know this history, but she’s still relishing the tale. 

"Desmond had the marriage annulled, put his daughter into a nunnery until her child was born, and then married her off to a FitzGerald cousin. Until today, no one knew what had happened to that baby - most presumed the child hadn’t survived its first year, but these papers - " Roxanne holds them up, "document your family. Your great-great-grandfather was George Plantagenet and no annulment or divorce could dissolve the blessing of the Land on his marriage to Honor FitzGerald."

Eggsy stares at her, wide-eyed. "Jesus."

Harry approaches and drops to one knee. "Majesty, you know what this means?"

"Of course I do!" Roxanne can’t keep the laughter from her voice. "No one is ever going to pressure me to marry again." She claps her hands in delight.

"Why?" Eggsy is still confused, which doesn’t surprise Roxanne at all. 

"You are my first cousin, twice removed. And the only other living and true-born offspring of the House of Plantagenet. You are the Heir Presumptive to the Throne."

Eggsy faints. She doesn’t blame him.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	8. Epilogue

Harry lounges in a comfortable chair and only occasionally offers advice as several of the Royal dressers flutter around Eggsy, fitting him into clothing appropriate to the station he’s about to assume. 

Six months after Eggsy’s rather cunning entry into Harry’s life, Eggsy is about to be formally recognized as a true-blood member of the House of Plantagenet and the heir to the Crown. It had taken a bit of effort on all their parts to bring that about without alienating allies both domestic and foreign. The distaff Plantagenets, the scions of Edward the Fifth’s vast array of bastards, could have been the easiest to offend; some of them hold ancient titles and might lay a claim to the crown if the legitimate and recognized ruling house expires naturally. They could be amongst the vanguard objecting to the appearance of a long-lost heir; but Roxanne had carefully sweetened her relationships with the most powerful of those families, ensuring their allegiance to the Crown and their acceptance of Eggsy as her presumptive heir.

Where the Greys and Cliffords and Warwicks go, the rest of the nobility follows and of course, the Nevilles had been all too happy to back a cousin, which gives Roxanne support of the four most influential families in the realm.

Eggsy - young and handsome and fairly bursting with magic - has only helped his own cause with his clear devotion to Elizabeth Roxanne and her rule. The few nobles who’ve tried to subvert Eggsy to their own will have found themselves swiftly dealt with.

Once their queen had made up her mind that Eggsy would be her Heir, Harry and Merlin had been given the task of protecting the new prince and polishing the rough edges off of Eggsy. Like their roles with the queen when she’d been a young girl, Harry and Merlin became Eggsy’s teachers and giving him an intensive education in English politics and power structure - both temporal and magical. Like the Queen, Eggsy has an almost supernatural ability with languages, and his quick mind has been a joy to teach.

Today is the culmination of Harry and Merlin’s efforts to transform the former thief and street rat, Eggsy Unwin, into Gareth George Richard FitzGerald Plantagenet, Duke of Clarence, Earl of Desmond, and Heir Presumptive to the Crown of England. The Beltane Ritual that Merlin will lead today will be expanded to include the gifting of Eggsy’s blood to the Orb, to show the Court that England itself accepts him as the Heir and will prosper under his eventual rule. 

For the Ritual, Merlin has had to do a bit of research to find the perfect formulation of words and actions; no one in living memory has observed the naming of the Heir. Maude had refused to participate in any of these "devilish pagan rituals", vowing to banish them upon her own ascension to the throne. Stephen’s own submission to the Blade and Orb hadn’t been fully documented, and while _his_ father, Richard, had taken the throne with the blessing of the Realm, he’d never been recognized as his brother’s heir while Edward had been alive. 

The dressers finish and Eggsy dismisses them with his thanks and a generous amount of coin. He holds out his arms and spins around, showing off the new suit of clothes. "Well, how do I look?"

Harry gets up, fusses just a bit with the folds of the sable-trimmed cape slung over one shoulder, so the white York rose clasp is on full display. "You look splendid, my Prince."

Eggsy snorts, a decidedly unregal sound. "Never going to get used to that, Harry. Me, a bloody prince."

"Well, technically, you are an earl and a duke. Only heirs of the body can hold the title Prince of Wales, but it’s an appropriate form of address between a member of the royal household and his devoted servant."

"And are you my devoted servant?" All of the humor and lightness has left Eggsy’s voice; his tone is stern and commanding. 

Without thinking, Harry drops to one knee and presses a kiss to the back of Eggsy’s hand. "Without question, my Prince."

Eggsy pulls Harry to his feet. "None of that, you great berk." Eggsy’s once again the nervous young man that Harry adores. "You’re Roxy’s most devoted servant first. You just like to fuck my ass."

Harry shakes his head, pretending to be appalled. "Eggsy…"

"Come on, Harry. You love my ass."

"I do, my Prince." This time, there’s just a touch of sarcasm in that word. "It it not the only thing I love about you, but it is the most perfect ass in creation."

"Now you’re overdoing it."

Harry grins and kisses the tip of Eggsy’s nose. "Perhaps."

"Well, you’ll have a chance to _assess_ it tonight, after the celebrating’s done."

Harry mentally applauds that bit of sophisticated wordplay, but he doesn’t think that Eggsy’s going to be particularly interested in sex later tonight. From what Merlin’s told him, the Ritual binding the Heir to the Land isn’t easy on any of the participants. Harry, of course, will provide whatever comfort and company that may be required.

"Merlin can give his opinion, too, if he’s so inclined."

Eggsy had been a little freaked out when Harry and Merlin had explained their relationship to him, but only for a moment or two. He understood that Merlin’s power was different from his own - that his magic wasn’t innate, like those who had a blood link to the Land. Mages like Merlin, who’s power came from skill and learning, had to made a personal sacrifice in order to retain that power. In Merlin’s case, he’d surrendered his ability to touch. Skin-to-skin contact with another drains his power, which is why Eggsy has never seen him without gloves.

Eggsy had understood just what that meant - Merlin and Harry have a most unusual marriage. "So, you two, you never actually done the nasty?"

Merlin had been extremely frank. "With each other? No. We will, on occasion, indulge in mutual self-pleasuring, but that is also a drain on my powers. I do, however, enjoy watching Harry in his own pleasure - solo or with another."

Harry added, "And there may be times when he’d like to watch us together." 

Eggsy had nodded, but hadn’t said a word as he retreated to the window overlooking a private garden. Harry had wondered if maybe Merlin had been too frank; he’d taken enough lovers to know that most of them didn’t enjoy being watched during the act of lovemaking and had kept Merlin’s presence a secret. 

Eggsy deserves the truth, however, and if he doesn’t want to watched, to be a party to Merlin’s special kind of enjoyment, he should be able to say no. He had come back from his contemplation of the garden with cautious smile and had told them that he’s kind of intrigued and doesn’t see why they shouldn’t give it a shot.

Merlin had given Harry and Eggsy privacy for their first time together, and even their second and third. He’d watched them the fourth time and from Eggsy’s reaction, Harry seemed to think that Eggsy enjoyed having Merlin in the room.

Over the past half-year, Merlin has watched them about a dozen times, always after Eggsy’s made it clear that he wants Merlin to join them. Neither Harry nor Merlin will ever presume consent on Eggsy’s part - he is part of the Realm and they are only the Realm’s servants.

Harry’s never discussed it with Merlin, but he thinks that his immediate and profound attraction to Eggsy is part of the ties he has to the Realm and the Crown. That’s not to say that he wouldn’t have found the boy attractive if Eggsy hadn’t been of Plantagenet blood, but Harry had never been one to fall so fast or so hard for just a pretty face and a spectacular ass.

Eggsy affixes something on Harry’s jacket, drawing his attention back to the present.

"What’s this?"

"Just something I had commissioned for you, with Roxy’s permission, of course."

Harry doesn’t bother to correct Eggsy’s too-informal reference to Her Majesty. Eggsy will ignore the admonishment and proceed with even more outlandish names. Instead, Harry goes to admire the gift in the mirror. It’s a small jeweled and enameled brooch and Harry has to smile when he sees the design - the Clarence boar over a leaping hart, surrounded by white York roses, but there is something about the roses that catches Harry’s attention.

"Are those hen eggs amongst the roses?"

Eggsy rocks back on his heels, looking pleased as punch. "Well, they’re pearls, but there are supposed to look like eggs. Thought it was a nice touch. I’m always going to be Duke Gareth to everyone, only a very few people ever call me Eggsy anymore. Just Daisy and you. Even Merlin calls me Gareth most of the time, now. Don’t mind it, but I like being Eggsy and I never want to forget who I who I am underneath the fancy clothes and the high title."

Harry touches the brooch. "I will cherish it as much as I cherish your affection, my darling."

Eggsy’s smile brightens to an almost blinding intensity. "Love you too, Haz."

Harry takes Eggsy’s hand and presses a fervent kiss on his palm as a prelude to more heated kisses, but a knock on the door forestalls any further action and reminding Harry of the ceremony about to come. "It’s time, Your Highness."

Eggsy nods and the sweet, laughing boy disappears underneath a regal mask. Harry is proud of how Eggsy is able to transform into a man of power, one whom others respect and fear.

Then Eggsy winks at him and the mask slips away, if just for a second, to reassure Harry that no matter what changes the Beltane ceremony will bring, Eggsy will be his. Or perhaps, more appropriate to Eggsy’s royal status, he will be Eggsy’s.

_FIN_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read this, and an even bigger thanks to TheNerdyIndividual, who'd generously bid on my 2019 FTH auction and received this story as a thank you for her donation.
> 
> Feedback, comments, love is greatly appreciated and is the lifeblood for this author.


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